Infernal Investigations

A pair of stained glass windows lay closed to the back, overlooking the square down below. Both depicted Halspus, at points in his life I’d picked up the basics of his clerics sermons right outside the Quarter. One Halspus as he started, the sun destroyed, his crops burned, the families of him and his neighbors butchered on the ground around him, gnawed by devils until all that remained was stringy sinew and tendons.

The second was him triumphant over some arch-devil whose name I couldn’t remember, the brilliant light of the sun disintegrating its corpse. The sun god triumphant, the sun restored, the devils denied their easy access to the mortal plane. Beginning and end.

The corpse sat in the desk definitely resembled one of them.

Bishop Matthew Gallaspie had gone slack-jawed and pale, eyes open. Faces lost all their tension when they died. I’d both read enough papers and seen enough of the dead. I wouldn’t see a hint to his expression when he died. He was casually seated though. Hadn’t shifted from the center of it at all, outside of slumping some more. His own death had been a complete surprise to him.

Focusing on that was keeping my mind off the fact I was probably dead soon.

Even worse, it would be over someone I hadn’t killed.

There were so many reasons this couldn’t be me. The stupidity of coming here if I’d done this. The fact that they had searched me while I was changing into that ridiculous outfit and they hadn’t found a single weapon on me. The fact the body was cold. The fact that there were two witnesses at least one of whom they probably respected. The fact the Bishop could, if he wanted to, melt me into liquified flesh with a gesture.

But none of that changed the heart of the matter. A Halspusian bishop was dead, an Infernal was nearby, and that Infernal was in the cathedral.

The false bravado I’d had on before was swiftly disintegrating. Tearing apart the longer I looked at the bishop’s dead body.

I was the first to get over my shock. “Slayer Derrick, how much do you trust Hamiltar?”

That broke the other two out of it.

“I’d say we need to leave now, but it’s impossible isn’t it?” Gregory said angrily, looking over his shoulder out the door.

“Not unless one of you two can fly and carry the rest of us,” I said, looking at the two windows.

They could be opened, the hinges were obvious. We were also near the top of the cathedral. And I wasn’t going to risk climbing down or using a potion to slow our descent. It would take too long to reach the ground.

“Hamiltar isn’t irrational,” Slayer Derrick assured me, while trying not to look at the bishop’s dead body. “I can talk him out of doing anything rash.”

“And everyone else in the cathedral?” Gregory said.

We all exchanged awkward looks as I forced down the uncomfortable feeling building in my throat.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the Slayer said.

“About all I can ask for,” I say, turning my attention to the scene. “Slayer, before you go to delay your friend and try and make it so we all don’t die, was there any-”

“Nothing,” the Slayer said. “He met me on my estate, after I sent word. I should leave now. Hamiltar will be here soon. With Forcreek.”

Right. The Priestkiller was on his way, and he wouldn’t even need to reveal himself to kill me. All it would take was seeing his mentor’s corpse and blasting me with divine light in an irrational moment of ‘sorrow and anger’.

It probably wouldn’t even be the first time he killed someone today.

No. No. Don’t leap to conclusions. Forcreek was likely since he lived in hare, but he wasn’t certain.

“Slayer Derrrick,” I said quietly. “You should go find your friend and perhaps inform them about this? Quietly? So we don’t have to fight our way out of here?”

Hopefully. If he was willing to listen to reason. And could convince the other Halspusians of the same. Or at least was willing to get us out of here before the dramatics started.

Slayer Derrick hesitated, then nodded, and left the room.

I sighed, then reached inside the pockets of my coat. They’d let me keep my clothes underneath that ridiculous disguise of theirs. Made the trip upstairs unbearably hot. It did mean I had some limited tools, a pair of which I fished out of my pocket.

Gloves. There couldn’t be a hint that I had manipulated the body. Although I doubted the Halspusians had the forensic knowledge, better safe than sorry.

Moved to the body, carefully touching the Bishop’s corpse. If I was going to die, might as well see what I could figure out first.

“Malvia what are you doing?” Gregory hissed at me shakily as I examined the bullet wound.

“Taking advantage of what little time we’ll have with this,” I told Gregory. “Flesh is cold, but not room temperature. Blood on the floor and his chair is dried, over an hour. Limbs are a little stiff, so over two hours, approximately. Probably not immediately after he got done talking to me.”

Especially if he had been as tired as all of us. He was dressed in different clothes than when I’d met him as well. He had time to sleep before this. Which meant I could reasonably rule out Slayer Derrick once again.

“No gunpowder residue,” I noted. “No soot at least. Could be powder particles, but this wasn’t an execution.”

I sniffed the air.

“No scent of gunpowder either.”

Either the killer had quickly opened up a window to let the smell of the murder get swallowed by the outside, or this had been even further ago. Long enough for the scent to dissipate down the tower.

“Gallaspie’s tower is relatively isolated, but a gunshot would be heard by someone,” Gregory pointed out.

“Definitely,” I said. “They had to mask that somehow. Or arrange for a distraction, but that would be..difficult.”

Anything disruptive enough to mask a gunshot would be likely to alarm people enough they might check the entire temple on general principles. Including the Bishop’s office.

I held Gallaspie’s head up. I doubted the bishop slouched, and the bullet wound wasn’t in the right place for a tilted head, nor was the body. Signs of manipulation were minimal. The chair was seated in a comfortable position for someone of his height and build. His clothes showed no signs of having been tugged or pulled. This was likely the position he’d be shot in.

I tamped down on a frustrated feeling that Voltar wasn’t here. He was the expert at this. But he wasn’t, and he’d likely never be allowed in here. So we had to make do with me.

“Make a gun with your hand,” I told Gregory. “Index finger pointed at his wound. Too close, take a step back. Yes. Okay.”

I eyed the arrangement critically. Gregory stood four feet away, trying to aim his outstretched index finger at the bullet wound. Trying not to look at the Bishop’s dead eyes.

“Bend your knees down a couple of inches? There.”

Gregory froze, and I tried to eyeball the entire arrangement. I didn’t have a straightedge, so this wasn’t precise. And the distance between head and shoulder could vary, even more the further away from human someone was. And that was not counting any other number of factors that could have affected the angle the bullet was fire at. But still.

“Killer was likely shorter than you,” I said. “But not by much. Wish I could narrow that down more but I really doubt the Halspusians would appreciate us taking the Bishop’s body with us. Or me ever coming back.”

“And they’ll be just as unlikely to let anyone outside the temple look,” Gregory said. “Two bishops in as many months.”

Right, the shape-changer who’d been handled as part of that whole mess. Strevans. Gregory was right. The Halspusians were not going to be happy about two prominent members of their clergy being permanently removed so suddenly. Worse, they might decide my tangential involvement might be a trend.

“This is house cleaning,” I said, looking at the Slayer’s blank eyes before leaning the head forward. “It has to be.”

“You think he was killed to protect the conspiracy?” Gregory asked me, trying to keep his eyes off the body. “That would mean someone else is leading it.”

“I don’t think it has a leader,” I said, gently pulling the Bishop’s chair, my tail keeping his corpse from falling out. “Or if it does, it’s multiple people. Each pulling in their own direction. The bishop was one of them. Help me check his desk?”

“Wait,” Gregory said, holding his hands up. “I know I said I suspected him in the past, but still, are you sure he’s involved in it?”

I paused, thinking on it.

“He could have suspected Forcreek,” I said hesitantly. “Or someone else. And they killed him for it. But unless he happened across any information overnight to pose a risk, why now?”

There were papers on the desk. Since the bishop had slumped back instead of forward in death, there wasn’t any blood on them. And he had a pen nearby. I looked at the first sheet.

My brothers and sisters in faith to the Guardian of the Sun, Righteous be our Cause, Blessed as protectors of all Anglea

Gag me, the Imp said, and for once I didn’t disagree with the sentiment.

I have seen the slow descent of our order since the days of our greatest triumph. When we defeated the devil’s scheme and killed the one of their own that sat on our throne. And ever since then, a foreign deity has slowly leeched off of us, off of the deity that has been the guardian of our fair lands long before we even heard of this Maldeura. Before his mortal agent’s attention was turned to distant lands before the land of her birth. As is such, I took it upon myself to do what none of you could ever bring yourselves to do. By using our most ancient of foes to secure our strengths. To use the deals of devils and their pawns as pawns of my own to secure our power and change our course.

I fear that instead I have been turned into a mere pawn of their schemes.

To my fellow servants of Halspus, I offer no apologies for none may suffice, and no forgiveness for I deserve none. My efforts to keep our order on the right path took me down paths that are unforgivable, but my mind insisted it would help, ignoring the protests of my heart until it was almost too late. Sanity came from one of the most morally reprehensible people I know in what I assume must have been Halspus seizing control of the creature's mouth to speak wisdom to me. Perhaps.

I could practically taste the extreme reluctance in that ‘perhaps’ he’d scrawled after.

Or perhaps it surprised me by actually having morals. It is unimportant. Brothers and sisters, I have committed grievous sin in pursuit of securing our place for the future. I deemed it necessary for our empire to be reminded of the greatest threat it had ever faced.

“It’s a confession,” I said, carefully lifting the first page to read the one underneath. “He confesses using the Diabolism program and people who were aware of the deal being made to try and ‘remind’ the empire of its greatest foe. Trying to reverse a perceived shrinking in Halspus’ status and influence by forcibly reminding people of the dangers they help safeguard them against.”

Gregory stared at the bishop’s corpse with hatred. “Idiot.”

“On general principles I agree,” I said, swallowing my own bile. He’d engaged in the exact same kind of offense he’d accused Infernals of doing to justify spiking their souls, and with nary a twinge of guilt, apparently. “You’d know more about the church politics and religious angle than me.”

“There were a hundred ways he could have tried to fix these perceived irrelevance than this,” Gregory angrily said, while I finished the second page. More self-recriminations and elaborate apologies. Little in the way of specific information.

Scrawled across the bottom of the second page was a single word in rough hand that had torn the paper.

Weak.

“There’s at least a third page missing,” I muttered. “The confession is unfinished. Don’t bother looking for it, these pages were undisturbed, someone has deliberately snatched it.”

Those additional pages would have any of the actually incriminating information. Whoever had killed him didn’t mind Gallaspie’s confession getting out, but not the parts pointing at the other people involved.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Check the rest of his papers?” I asked Gregory, who nodded and moved to the Bishop’s desk. “I’ll check the rest of the room. See if there’s any more hints to our killer.”

“Forcreek?” Gregory whispered, eyes on the door even as he opened a drawer. “And is this safe?”

I tapped my ears. “No one is nearby. Or at least anyone making noise. Derrick’s doing a good job delaying.”

Or arranging for our deaths, but I still didn’t have a better option for how to get out of this. Scaling the cathedral was out of the question. Even if no one spotted us, I didn’t put better odds on us making it to the ground without at least Gregory falling. And nothing but cobblestones to land on.

“Still,” Gregory said, no longer whispering. “Forcreek?”

I shrugged. “He has easy access. He is the one we already expect to be involved. Depending on his own level of belief in whatever cause Gallaspie was doing this for? He may have reacted poorly to any admitted doubts.”

Or it could be someone else and Forcreek was just a pawn still. A gun was a relatively easy murder weapon. Not making noise with it was less common but still possible. I dealt with plenty of people who had their own silencers, even if theirs were for having private conversations instead of assassination.

I even had someone in mind whose deity-granted powers already helped them be unnoticeable. If we already were figuring Timmel for much of this, what was one more killing?

Still, think this through. If we could tie Forcreek to this, if I could argue it to Hamilcar successfully, it would be easier to convince him to take the probable Priestkiller into custody.

If Forcreek had been brought in believing this was a holy mission to end the attempts by other churches to use diabolism? Had from his perspective damned his own soul with its use, killed people who he had clearly felt empathy for initially ? Crossed swords with me, crossed swords with the Xangs, been embarrassed, nearly died, only to find out the Bishop wanted to end it now.

I could picture it. An argument erupts. Forcreek argues they haven’t gone far enough and that confessing isn’t needed. Gallaspie wants to end this plot now before others they enlisted in the effort under the pretense this was genuine are now too close to actually opening the Hellgate.

That was about as far as I could take it and have it make a modicum of sense. Even then, it required Forcreek to think even more killing of the Diabolic priests was needed. I could see someone being deluded by themselves or another into thinking that was necessary. I didn’t see them as being able to be rational in middle of an argument or even the aftermath of finding out Gallaspie wanted to confess to do it like this. To not use diabolism or holy magic, his two easiest to draw on tools. Sneaking a gun in, making sure it was silenced, coming up and-

And like that, another reason pointing against it being Forcreek

“There’s another factor to consider if Forcreek was the one to shoot him,” I told Gregory. “How calm do you think he’d be shooting his mentor in the face?”

Gregory looked at the perfectly placed bullethole right in the middle of Gallaspie’s forehead, and considered my words before nodding. “Fair point.”

“Whatever else, I doubt he’d be so nonchalant as to pull off that shot, or as lucky,” I said. “I favor Timmel.”

“Didn’t they kill Holmsteader by punching a hole in her head?” Gregory asked, once again looking anywhere but at the corpse.

“I don’t know they were the ones to kill Holmsteader for certain,” I said. “And they might have decided a little more ambiguity was needed for this one.”

Killing a bishop inside the Temple of Halspus got an entirely different kind of attention then just another street criminal dying in the Quarter.

“Even if it’s not from an argument, Forcreek comes up here planning this, how does he silence the gun,” I mutter. “How does he not end up becoming the first suspect? Even if he knows I’m on the way, it won’t take long after I’m imprisoned or killed for someone to ask questions.”

“He might not have been thinking about that,” Gregory said, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was simply playing devil’s advocate.

“He thinks about making sure the killing is done in a way that isn’t heard by anyone else in the temple but not that?” I said, then shook my head. “No, this was deliberate, an assassination.”

Besides, if as a devout Halspusian Forcreek would want to cover up the actions of his church, he would have taken all of the confession.

“What do you think the chance is of this not getting out,” I asked Gregory, indicating said confession.

“Nothing,” he replied. “If it got left by the killer, the killer wants people to know.”

A very fair point. If it didn’t leak naturally, the killer could just leak the details themselves.

“Let’s ignore the social ramifications for now,” I said as lightly as I could manage. “One fire at a time.”

Taking this a small piece at a time kept it much more manageable.

“Gallaspie was sitting down,” I said. “Didn’t expect violence. Probably was not arguing or hearing someone smash down his door. Perhaps someone he thought shared his goal was with him.”

Nowhere near as good a judge of character as he thought. And arrogant to hells. My words last night had been more accurate than I could ever imagine.

You don’t make deals with devils. Especially not deals where you think you’re tricking them.

I looked over the room. Relatively spartan, outside the personal shrine and the windows. The furniture was firm, utilitarian, but lacked the ornament and decoration you saw. No one had carved Halspusian imagery into the every available wooden surface. Rather plain.

There was something missing. From this room and from the corpse.

“Any luck with those papers?”

“None,” Gregory said. “I could go faster if you-”

“No, don’t,” I said. “We want as little evidence we spent this time pouring through the dead man’s things as possible. Actually…don’t bother with the rest.”

Bishop Gallaspie was arrogant. He wasn’t arrogant enough to leave any papers implicating him nearby. He would hide them. But, he wouldn’t leave them outside the temple. Wouldn’t put them outside his room.

The man had discovered the way to save his deity, his temple, his calling, from what he saw as irrelevancy. Anyone who might disagree was wrong. They might be his fellow clergy, but they lacked the vision, the right temperament to handle the problems facing the Church.

I could see him thinking something like that. So he would have hidden them, in a way he figured would be foolproof.

Against other Halpsusians, perhaps. Not me. But I would have to be quick. Still no noise of anyone coming closer. Derrick has already exceeded my expectations.

Searching, I paused by the chimney, looking at the bottom stones. Huh. Well, I hadn’t expected this kind of trick from the Bishop. Then again, what better way to hide something than give the world the impression you didn’t know how? Better than I’d expected, actually.

I bent down closer to the squares making up the bottom of the chimney.

“Spotted something?” Gregory said, coming over.

I smirked. “Gallaspie maybe had some tricks he picked up somewhere. See how this dust is slightly different? This part of the chimney has been cleared, then had dust sprinkled on top to try and make it look untouched. He even kept the rest of his room relatively filthy so a dust-covered fireplace wouldn’t stand out.”

I pressed down on the stone, and it moved downwards until a mechanism clicked. Part of the wooden wall swung outward slightly, perhaps waist high.

“He must have heard about the general idea but never had it demonstrated,” I said, moving to the secret door and bending down. “You need to blend it for longer than he did, otherwise it still stands out to a practiced eye. Too concentrated in the center of the key”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Gregory said, eyeing the chimney. “It all looks like dust to me. Did no one notice this being installed?”

“We can look into that later if we want to satisfy our curiosity,” I told him.

I swung the secret door open, grunting as it was much heavier than I expected. Looking at the back explained why.

“I’m not an expert,” I said as I looked at the whirring device, arcane runes flaring bright along its back. It was a series of brass tubes running into a solid metal block that looked like steel. A liquid was actively flowing through it as something inside the box chugged with a sound like a steam engine. “Always a dabbler, but pretty sure this is to keep anyone from noticing what’s behind this wall. And why we didn’t hear this thing working until I opened the door. Complicated. Someone wasn’t very trusting of their fellow priests.

I pulled the blanket away, and immediately reared back as pain tore across my skin. I took a few steps back on my hooves, but already the shock was fading.

“Huh,” I said, looking at the object on the floor. “He must have felt very safe in this place to keep this here instead of on his belt the whole time.”

Inside the wall was a hollow section five feet long and two wide. An assortment of effects and items were in here, including a large assortment of letters and papers. And the centerpiece.

In the middle, glowing a brilliant white where it had slid out of the scabbard a little, was Bishop Gallaspie’s blessed blade.

Gregory stared down at it, then swallowed nervously.

“I asked about the blade,” I said. “All I know is he supposedly nearly killed my father with it, and I saw him slice through the devil-possessed corpse of Stormspeaker Starken. Powerful?”

“Very,” Gregory said. “He’s far from the first person to wield that blade”

I eyed it warily. “It’s not some weapon Halspus wielded, is it?”

“No. One of his children made it, though. One of the ones he had after becoming a deity.”

So, forged by a demigod. Well, best to just ignore it for right now.

“Probably figured this was good enough,” I said, checking the machinery. Bulky. Getting this installed must have been difficult. “Temple security would prevent most anyone from getting in, reputation would help stop the rest, and this was just in case.”

I reached down to one of the packets, pulling it out without getting close to the sword. Undid the thread binding it together.

“Various correspondence,” I noted, reading one of the letters. Gibberish. “Coded, because of course it is. We’ll need to collect this.”

“How?” Gregory said, grabbing the rest of them. “We can’t exactly smuggle them out on us. They’ll be searching all three of us before we’re let out.”

I glanced at the window. It did swing open.

“Out there?” he asked incredulously.

“Well,” I said. “I do know someone who I don’t mind owing a favor to. If he’s willing.”

There was a good chance Captain Malstein’s next reaction to me might involve being chucked out the nearest door or window. Hopefully not. I didn’t want to add stealing a Watch balloon to everything else we needed to do.

“At a bare minimum, we keep it out of the killer’s hands,” I said. “If they could get in here without notice once, they can do it again.”

Perhaps with more difficulty. This place would be locked down tight after today. But that assumed it wasn’t one of the priests already inside. If it were a sufficiently high-ranking one, they could search at their leisure.

I reached in for the first packet, then reconsidered. No, not the packets first.

I paused, then carefully reached down with a gloved hand.

“Malvia, what are you doing?” Gregory hissed.

“Hush,” I told him, then put a finger on the pommel.

This is possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and that is saying something! The Imp shrieked. LET GO OF IT!

I winced as my fingertip burned, but it was manageable. Pulling my hand back and checking the glove, the tissue appeared undamaged.

Putting the glove back on, I gripped the handle of the sword.

Pain. And the Imp screeched again to stop touching it. I grit my teeth as I pulled the sword out, even as my hand felt like it was being sandpapered. Every second, my nerves burned, insisting that they and everything above them were being ground away.

“The papers are one thing, that is just insanity!” Gregory said, face paling.

“Only if you choose to let it be that way,” I told him through gritted teeth. “Glad I wore gloves, otherwise, I’m pretty sure this would kill me.”

The sword’s glow intensified, as if offended by my words. I winced, holding it a little further away.

“Would you mind grabbing it?” I asked him. “Since it won’t kill you to touch this?”

Gregory shook his head. “Do you think it’s just because of your race?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. Clearly it was. Divine light hurts Infernals. I was currently holding a wrap infused with that energy.

“Malvia,” Gregory said, exasperation suffusing his tone. “You are currently holding the weapon of a recently deceased champion of Halspus, forged by his child, which you stole, and are talking about how you ‘beat’ Halpsus by wearing gloves. I’m not going to join you in inviting his wrath upon us.”

I paused. He…might actually have a point there.

“Would it help if I said it was for a good cause?” I asked for the sword.

If it, or the deity who has blessed it could hear, neither sent a sign as I hurriedly put the blade down. The pain stopped immediately.

“Why are you even taking it?” Gregory hissed.

“Contingency plan?” I asked him. “Also, I am sort of an acolyte of Lareran now..”

“Joining them doesn’t mean you have to pick up everything you touch!” Gregory snapped. “Also, why would you want that as a backup weapon?”

“It seems like a good idea to get a head start,” I replied. “And we have at least one devil still on the prowl.”

He groaned. “If you insist on going with this, I’ll grab it. It possibly won’t affect me as badly since I’m not an Infernal.”

“No,” I said. “You convinced me, let’s not already any potential wrath from Halspus around if we can avoid it.”

“You’re just changing your mind because I changed mine!”

“Nonsense. Now, get the window.”

Even through the scabbard and with gloves, it felt like gripping heated metal with protection. The thickest protection wouldn’t make it feel comfortable. And you were always aware a single mistake would burn you.

“Move the plants,” I told Gregory, and impatiently waited as he moved them out of the way. Down below I could see parts of the cathedral roof blocked by the vegetation, and I aimed for that.

And thus did I toss Bishop Gallaspie’s holy blessed blade down, catching on a railing along the edge of the roof.

“I believe the scabbard should hide it from anyone specifically looking for it,” I told a concerned-looking Gregory.

“I still can’t believe you did that,” he said, eyes flicking back towards the door. “If they had seen you-”

“Ears,” I whispered to him. “But also, if they did, it’s not going to be any worse than what they’ll initially think anyway.”

Even odds someone would just try to kill me the moment we stepped out of here. I could only hope for some common sense among their ranks.

He sighed. “Stealing relics normally doesn’t end well.”

“Neither does killing deity’s clerics, and we’re working against the killers,” I said. “Perhaps Halpsus will be forgiving.”

He stared at me for a second, expression gone blank as I tried to keep my own face steady in the aftermath of that absurd statement. He slumped against the wall.

“First she insists on taking holy water everywhere,” he said to the air. “Now she’s trying to smuggle out a demigod's personal weapon made of holy Light. I give up. There is literally no way to keep her from carrying weapons that could destroy her with a single misstep.”

While I completely disagreed with every word that came out of his mouth, I decided graciously not to voice any of that in the interests of saving time.

“Ready?” I asked him.

“As long as the next part isn’t likely to end with either of us dead, sure.”

“Good,” I told Gregory. “Because we’re binding the correspondence so it won’t fly about and that’s going out the window next, and one of us might need to be lowered on a rope so it doesn't miss the target.”

Derrick could keep them delayed that long. Surely. Then we’d find out if we would be living the rest of the day. Gregory, I was decently sure of.

Myself, well, I still had options.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!